Smoke
by Enarra
Summary: Ginny wakes after the final battle, surrounded only by mist, the slight memory of screams still ringing in her ears.


**Smoke**

_Disclaimer- Nothing is mine._

When the smoke clears, shifting in a pale haze across the night sky and twining into the branches of nearby trees, he is gone.

There is still a slight melody in her ears, an echo of the ringing screams, so soon lost into silence. The sky is dark, stars an unseen blur, and when she tries to raise her head it starts to spin, but only a little bit. The faint lights seem to flutter and her stomach twists, ants and butterflies and pain eating in out in out in.

The green of the leaves, bright and mysterious in the moonlight, makes her look, quick turns of her head that leave her lying on the ground, motionless. Staring up at the starry sky, world spinning round and round about her head.

* * *

In those last few moments, before her universe explodes into drifts of ice and wind and rain, and the bright lights are silenced by the fear and disbelief, he pulls her aside, his hand dwarfing hers as they step into the shadows.

For that moment, she looks up at his hair, tossed and fragile and gorgeous in the breeze, the smooth line of his skin marred only by the quick dart of lightening, lips slightly parted, brow furrowed just a bit in concentration. And for that one, slight little moment, he is hers once again.

But then she looks into his eyes, light and green and sharp all at once, dark storms swirling in the corners. She sees the pain and hurt and anger and fear, cowering in the background, and then, painfully, knowing but not wanting to admit it to herself, she sees the malice, lightly twirling round and round, encircling his all too large pupils.

And in that instant, she knows that he is gone.

* * *

In the end, the enemy is decimated. There are no remains littering the ground, no charred flesh and shattered bones atop the grass, blood changing green life to red, sticky despair. She thinks that it would almost be easier.

Instead, it is like waking from a dream. Smoke drifts across her pale skin, clouding her vision. Trees and sky drift in and out, hazy, and all is silent. As clouds swirl up, dissipating in the night air, the landscape opens up around her, empty and fragile. She reaches up tentatively to touch the leaves above her head, nearly sure that they too will dissipate upon contact, drifting in a green haze on the wind.

Her steps are light as she traces her way towards the clearing. She can almost remember running away, stumbling frantically over roots in her race to escape, screams fading into the enveloping darkness, but in the still quiet of the night it seems like a ridiculous fantasy. It is a peacefulness without end or any discernable beginning.

In the corner of her eye she catches, quickly- don't miss it!-, a glimpse of the vast armies that had filled the forest earlier that day. White masks mingle with all too familiar orange hair, and for a moment she can't help but hope, going against her memory and common sense and reality. It is so much easier to pretend that it was all a dream, to forget the intense pain on her father's face, Hermione's brutal screams, the writhing black masses of Death Eaters.

She nimbly avoids the visions of change, flesh sublimating, drifting up towards the stars while the screams are still fresh on the wind.

And for an instant, as she steps into the clearing, it is as if dreams _do_ come true, five years old and wishing on a falling star. They stand, friend and enemy alike, staring silently at the sky. But vision wavers, and as suddenly as they appear they are gone, leaving only the quiet and the emptiness, surrounding the last remaining body.

He is lying flat on his back in the middle of the clearing, his hair tossed and fragile and gorgeous, the smooth line of his skin marred only by the quick dart of lightening. As she moves closer she can see his eyes staring up at the sky, dead, a dark red that was never meant to be seen.

Carefully, she slides down to the grass, and, afraid, lightly slips her hand into his.

* * *

The pain is soon forgotten as she drifts up, separate, like a dandelion, blown off on whispy breaths. Her screams still echo, off among the stars, but they seem like a lost dream, and she is glad to finally be awake. 

And then the smoke clears, shifting in a pale haze across the night sky and twining into the branches of nearby trees, and she is gone.


End file.
